


Amaradulcis

by WeCouldBeCircumbinary



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Humanstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:46:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeCouldBeCircumbinary/pseuds/WeCouldBeCircumbinary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, a collection of my Dave/Aradia and Sollux/Aradia drabbles, since they're too short, normally, for their own fic.</p><p>I write a /lot/ of these two ships, so this is the collection. First chapter is just the table of contents, but then come the ficlets.</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

**CH1**  
> Table of Contents.

> All the chapters and their summaries.

 **CH2**  
> She Swings, or At Least, She Used To. 

> “C’mon, Strider, play me a song. A last swing from my music-man.”

She was a crowd favorite, the men wanting more, more, and the ladies jealous of her boldness, her brazen self. She didn’t care and she never really would, just doin’ what she loved in the haze of shitty perfume and cancer sticks. **(Dave/Ara)**

 **CH3**  
> Sealed Lips and (Almost) Death Beds.

> For months this went on, the one-sided companionship, until one day, you made a joke about John and his shitty taste in movies, his raging man-boner for Nic Cage, and she laughed.  _The dead girl laughed._   **(Dave/Ara)**

 **CH4  
** > The Most Sane of Mental Afflictions. **(Work in Progress!)**

> But her lips...

Oh, that was a whole different story. That was like a novel in an entirely different genre, written in a different language on a different continent on a different planet, it was so different a story. **(Dave/Ara & Sol/Ara)**


	2. She Swings, or At Least, She Used To

She was somewhere between a goddess and a flapper: she didn’t bob her hair, no, those massive curls were too precious to her to cut, russet and twisted locks tumbling to her waist; her skin was dark caramel, smooth and warm, flawless like chocolate porcelain; her eyes were brown, so brown they read burgundy in the dark lighting of the room you met her in.

She tucked that curvaceous body of hers into short dresses of dark maroon and skirts a centimeter long compared to the norm, those long, tanned legs like a siren’s song, feet fitted into steep, ass-kicker heels. Her lips were always coated in a dark red sheen, teeth strikingly white against crimson, that flawless smile like a drug to him.

Her voice was like honey, alto and vibrato in the microphone when she sang late into the night, her name on their lips for more, more, a cigarette and a chuckle on her own.

And, without fail, she always sang them one more, one more, a sultry ballad, then a hit-the-road-jack smack, then another ballad or two. There was always a straggler, too drunk to do anything but cry for more, and she always helped him collect his things, sang him a song on his way to his automobile, came back inside laughing that sweet laugh of hers like this was all she ever wanted to do.

You played the saxophone when she sang, an occasional piano piece for her when she splayed her body across that ole grand, grinning like she won the lottery, dark lashes fluttering and teeth plucking at a crimson lip.

“C’mon, Strider, play me a song. A last swing from my music-man.”

She was enticing, intriguing. Sexy as all hell. And you did, you played her a song like nobody’s business and she sang her heart out, making up words on the spot with a skill unmatched by any other lady that came through here.

She was a crowd favorite, the men wanting more, more, and the ladies jealous of her boldness, her brazen self. She didn’t care and she never really would, just doin’ what she loved in the haze of shitty perfume and cancer sticks.

You kissed her one night, and she kissed back, then pulled back. You tried to kiss her again, she grinned and laughed, wiping the lipstick from your mouth and whispering promises of another time, another time.

Another time came, and again she kissed and ran. Over and over, she always ran until one day she bit back with fervor, and your elation was unprecedented when her killer heels stayed rooted in place.

You woke up with her tucked in your arms, bare skin to bare skin, and you’d never admit to how giddy, how satisfied you felt. She made you breakfast but made you clean up ( “Since I cooked, it’s only fair!” ) and you have never ceased to be amazed by this woman and her audacity.

You loved it like you loved her.

You told her so.

She said she loved you too, music-man.

From then on, every time she sang one of those sweet love songs, her eyes were glued to you, and yours to her, and you were always reminded how much you loved the feeling of her bare skin under your hands.

Stupid Serket and her stupid jealousy.

Stupid Megido and her stupid boldness.

You wish you could’ve kissed those crimson lips just one last time.


	3. Sealed Lips and (Almost) Death Beds

At first, you had no idea who the hell she was. All you had to do was change her IV fluids since her normal guy was out that day. She was pretty, peaceful, and completely unresponsive.

Her name was Aradia Megido, and she was in a coma.

Then, you got moved to her room. You were her constant nurse and caretaker, noting her vitals, changing her fluids, sticking those electro-whatsits to her body and making sure she was still living.

Your name was Dave Strider, and you were curious.

Your interest in the patient became stronger, gradually over the time you cared for her.

Megido has dark, smooth skin and a spattering of dark freckles, full lips and a round nose, dark lashes and russet, velvety hair that was massive and curly, a nest of curls to her waist. Her body had the hips and stature to be curvy, but on her current diet (liquidized nutrients and vitamins), she was gaunt and frail, dead-looking, and only a step away from exactly that.

You start reading about her in stolen medical files. Rose doesn’t ask you why you need them.

She was schizophrenic, apparently, and swung between hypo and hyper thyroid issues. Overall, though, she was generally pretty happy, patient but with a quick temper, a fiery and passionate student who attended Alternia University in the Prospit wing, an archaeology and music student, honor grades and plenty of friends, even if some did call her “odd” or “eccentric”, or even “crazy” quite often.

In the pictures you’ve found, she’s worn odd, almost Hollywood-burnout-esque clothes, very hipster even if her personality didn’t fit the persona. She liked photography, though, and sushi (though, apparently, barbeque was more her thing). She loved dead things and not only wasn’t afraid of death, but was very in tune with it.

One day, her drunk boyfriend beat her unconscious, and while she didn’t die, she just… Didn’t wake up.

You read in the paper that some chick named Vriska slipped some kind of drug into the poor guy’s drink to get revenge on Aradia for who fuckin’ knows what.

After a while, you started talking to her sleeping (heh, that’s just a nice term for it) form, taking the edge off your problems, a loophole in your abhorrence to talking shit out. She couldn’t hear, didn’t respond, so you were fine. You were still getting what pissed you off out there, though, and that made you even more fine.

You cried, sometimes. 

You always kept the door to her room closed during those times.

You liked to rap to her, to make jokes and things. For months this went on, the one-sided companionship, until one day, you made a joke about John and his shitty taste in movies, his raging man-boner for Nic Cage, and she laughed.

The dead girl laughed.

You nearly jumped right out of your goddamn seat, let alone your socks, flipping the royal fuck out.

The sound was hoarse and it sounded like she had forgotten how to actually do this, but it was sweet and light and you wanted to help her remember.

She explained to you that she could hear everything you’d ever told her, but just could never respond. 

Now, though. Well.

That’s a whole other story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debating continuing this into a second part or something, but I'm not sure.


	4. The Most Sane of Mental Afflictions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. this is crazy, crazy long. And it's a work in progress that I haven't even beta'd.
> 
> Guess I'm just posting it here temporarily, and for feedback, somewhat. This will most likely end up in it's own fic, because of it's length, but because it isn't done, it'll stay here for now.

**The Photographer and the Artist:**

The old hospital - mental asylum, actually - was a crumbling structure. The second floor was inaccesible unless you knew what you were doing, as the floors were 60% nonexistant, 30% totally sketchy as hell, and 7% incredibly dubious. The remaining 3% was safe. She thought.

Nevertheless, the filtered lighting and deteriorated, well, everything, was attractive to her artist's eye. She wanted to draw it.

Every day, after school, she sat on one of the old dirt-coated cots, doodling the cracked walls and gnarled plants that tried so desperately to survive there (growing wasn't really the problem - it was staying alive in the dank place) in a maroon, cloth-bounde sketchbook, the pages also filled with poetry, short stories, songs, chords for the piano or guitar, anything. It was her sixth notebook filled this year, and she almost needed a new one, again. It was barely mid-June.

The air was stagnant and dusty, and the near-constant creaking of the upstairs was precarious, scary as hell, and a major magnet for a girl like her.

Her name was Aradia Megido, and she had unwittingly been a model for a certain photographer for nearly two weeks.

\---

His intrigue in the building was nearly the same - however, to him, it was also a badass place to scare the damn pants off Captor, the guy who always insisted on coming along. The pants will want nothing to do with that douchebag. No, the pants will file not only for divorce, but also a retraining order against the lisping idiot; can't get within a five-mile radius after some of the scares he'll pull. More practical japery than fuckin' Egderp himself.

He normally made Sollux go off and find or see something when he wanted to photograph a certain thing - a certain girl, actually, and he was elated to see that she was here again today, though he had no doubt that she would be.

The only problem was that Captor had already seen her, as well.

"You gotta be quiet, a'ight? Or else she'll hear you."

"Whatever, Thrider, I got it. Jutht get your damn picture."

She was in a different place than usual today, which actually was pretty cool - made for an interesting shot. The brunette was in the main lobby, humming softly to herself, laying across the counter of what used to be the reception desk on her stomach. Her chin was propped up in her palm, other hand writing and scrawling, her eyes shifting back and forth from the page to a particularly gnarled vine of creeper, inching up the half-illuminated wall. It was beginning to settle into dusk, so the light that shone through was warm and tinted red, and he nearly gasped aloud ( though he was much too cool to actually do so ).

The color suited her - the red hit her cascading waterfall of russet curls, the waist-length locks wavy and smooth, shimmering in the light. It danced over her caramel, sun-kissed and freckled skin like fire, and her feet swung back and forth, raised in the air, her socks and sneakers discarded on the ground. Her gray shorts ( didn't she always wear those really long skirts? ) hugged thick hips and she had a black camisole on, a red off-the-shoulder sweater overtop, sleeves pulled down over her hands.

"Dude. The'th hot. Who ith that?"

He didn't answer, just raised his camera, held his breath, waited for the light to lower just right, and...

Click.

His name was Dave Strider, and he just got caught photographing a beautiful girl. Damn it.

\---

"I can hear you."

"We know."

Aradia laughed, quirking a brow. "Come out, then. I want to know whose been taking pictures of me for the past two weeks."

Two figures were emerging from the shadows, but one of them halted at her last statement, and cracked a grin, suddenly bursting out laughing. "Ha! Thrider, you idiot, ith thhe theriouthly the girl you've been talking about all thith ti-!" There was a light thud and a small grunt as a fist thudded into the lisping boy's shoulder, and both of them finally emerged into the light.

The blonde, the one holding her camera, she looked over first.

He was tall and athletic, platinum locks carefully styled and eyes hidden tactically behind shades, despite the darkness of the area. He wore a red t-shirt, and darkwash jeans, red sneakers poking out from underneath the denim. He looked... Practiced in his apathy. As if he actually cared, a whole lot more than he liked to let on, but he didn't actually want anyone to know, and henceforth was acting as if nothing in anything ever in the history of ever really bothered him.

She bet he was incredibly self-conscious.

The darker haired boy, the one with the lisp, she looked over second.

He was tall as well, even taller than the blonde, his raven-black locks in an attractive state of careless disarray. His glasses, too, were odd - one red lens, one blue.

One of her sister Damara's friends, though, Mituna, was epileptic - the glasses helped in some way to ease that, that of which she wasn't really paying attention to. She guessed it was something along those lines.

He, on the other hand, was coated in freckles across his pale skin, lips drawn into a small smirk and hands stuffed in his pockets. His t-shirt was mustard yellow, with lightwash skinny jeans tattered similarly to her own shorts and one red converse, one blue, both with yellow laces. Hm. Yellow and black striped headphones hung unused around his neck, and a black zipper hoodie was on over his t-shirt, and she was starting to see a pattern.

She bet he honestly just didn't care.

"What're your names?" she asked as she shifted to step down from the desk, brushing herself off before hopping down, toes curling into the cool, wet dirt beneath her feet. She could see at least one pair of eyes follow her every movement, but she couldn't tell with the blonde boy's eyes. It was too dark to see past the tinted lenses of his shades.

"Dave Strider, and this is just an insufferable prick you don't need'a worry about."

"Thollux Captor."

Aradia giggled at the subtle banter, deeming the two good friends. "Right. Well, I'm Aradia. 'Radia Megido. I gotta wonder, though - why have you been photographing me all this time?"

"'Cauthe he'th totally got a thing for y -"

"Captor, I will literally do an acrobatic fucking pirouette off the handle if you don't shut up. We'll need to round up some judges so we can rate the unprecedented level of badass that I will invent by presenting such a stunt off that damn handle. You will literally - "

"Dave."

The blonde looked up at her, a startled expression crossing his face before he masked it in a split second - luckily, Aradia's biggest skill was people, so it didn't pass her without notice.

"Sorry, Megido. But yeah. You've always been here, just kinda waiting to be photographed with all that hair, and your skirts and the places and way you hang around." Dave shrugged."Ain't gonna pass up a great photo-clickin' opportunity like that."

Aradia chewed it over, humming softly before cracking a grin, laughing softly. She'd do the exact same thing, honestly, so she couldn't be even an ounce mad at him. "Yeah, I get where you're coming from. Us artists gotta capture the moment!" Another light giggle, and she didn't miss the way the corners of his lips twitched ever-so-slightly with a smile. Winner winner! Prize to Aradia!!

She had a feeling this was going to be fun.

\---

For the next month, he and Aradia hung out every afternoon in the old asylum, always in room 4-13, the only room with comfortable (and still stable) cots.

He learned that she was fifteen and going on sixteen, that she lived with her dad, her mom having left them long ago for who-knows-why, and her sister moved out a few years ago. Droog, the single father, was a good guy and ex-mobster, who adored Aradia with every cell in his body. He learned she was an incredible artist, better than most professionals, art having been (and still being) her form of therapy. She was loud and charming, sweet and funny, with a passions for archaeology and dead things, ironic comics and animals. Her voice was like honey, her singing like the epitome of an angel's envy (she sang for him only once, when she'd come to the building early and, apparently, he had, too - she didn't know he was there). She was shy and soft-spoken, while other times she was rambunctious and mischevious, bold and brazen. She played the guitar and the piano, and her personality was just as beautiful as her looks.

She did not let him any farther in, though, because he just did not let her in at all.

　

**The Ram and The Bee:**

Unlike his cool companion, as Aradia began to get closer, to open up to him, Sollux opened up as well in reciprocation. It did take effort - and a lot of it, for the dark-haired boy was bitter and sarcastic, convinced no one wanted to hear his story. It turned out that she did, though. For myriad reasons.

Their companionship began when Aradia dropped her bag, and a small, plastic, orange and white-capped bottle rolled out, its contents rolling with it but not spilling. Despite theit not being exposed from the bottle, Sollux knew those colors well. They dictated his mornings, lunches, and nights, his days and life, just as they did her's.

Schizophrenia was no walk in the park.

From then on, all they did was console each other, and learn - Sollux learned that she'd been struggling with it for years, that she was so used to the headaches she barely felt them anymore. He learned that she was afraid of herself, that she often felt dead inside. Suddenly, her intrigue to the building made all that much more sense. The broken walls, the crumbling structure - and on top of that, if it were still functioning, she would've come here instead of two towns over, where the nearest mental hospital was. The nearest psyche ward. Hospital gowns were her best friend and she knew she shouldn't smoke when she was on medication but she did, producing a pack from her bag and giving it a deafeated glance before lighting up.

He learned that her father beat her and blamed her for her mother's leaving, that her sister was a whore, making her monet from prostitution. He learned that the bubbly side of her and the broken, dead side of her balanced each other and were both always present, just fluxuating between which rose to the surface at what time

He learned that she was afraid of herself and those around her, that she trusted too easily and fell too fast, broke too quickly into little shards of regret and remorse. He also learned that he could cheer her up, and Sollux often brought a guitar along when they met just to hear her sing and play, to see that sweet little smile pull at her lips. And she appreciated that more than anything.

In turn, she learned that the glasses were because of a defect of his heterochromia - the colors that his eyes could absorb were altered, and in his right he couldn't process red, in his left he couldn't process blue. The shading of his lenses made him see almost completely normally coloring, save a subtle tint of red or blue over the things he saw. She learned that both his parents died in a fire on his old apartments, and that he lived with a foster family. Learned that he tried to kill himself frequently and she nursed the cuts on his forearms, never once giving him a judging glance. She learned that he always wore a jacket or long sleeves, that his scars were so, so bad. Had them on his arms, his ankles, his chest, even a few on his neck from failed suicides or just rash decisions.

She learned that while she wasn't the first one to see him cry, she was still damn near close, and she was the only one who held him while he did so, who comforted and consoled him, never told him it would be okay ( it wouldn't, she knew ) but always told him she would always try her hardest to get things as close to okay as possible.

She liked to bring her music and her laptop, having him help her format her music while Dave helped her mix it.

She learned that he was afraid of falling for someone - he learned that so was she, but that hadn't saved her from wanting Dave.

She could've sworn that, for just a split second, Sollux had looked heartbroken, disappointed.

She learned that she wasn't sure, and also that she didn't know his gears as well as she'd thought.

Finally, she learned that understanding those was the only thing she really wanted to do.

\---

Her throat was a bit sore, and Dave slung Aradia's guitar over his back and beckoned for her to follow, treating her to an iced coffee.

"Dave, really, you don't have to! I have money, you know."

The blonde chuckled, nudging her and shaking his head. "Not gonna happen," the seventeen year-old chided. "I got this shit under control. Pullin' a Montresor here, man, the shit is a serpent and control is the boot on the coat of arms, like a - "

"Dave," the girl laughed, pressing a finger to his lips. "Shhhhush. Please."

The corner of his lips twitched imperceptibly, but enough that Aradia easily noticed - she'd become quite familiar with his facial manuvering now, after five months of knowing him.

Huh. Five months. It was odd when she thought about it - it felt like they'd been friends for no time at all, and yet, it also felt like she'd know Sollux and Dave her entire life. She knew Sollux, as least, felt similarly, but Dave's emotions were an enigma she couldn't even begin to decipher. Well, she could, but it wasn't easy when he didn't put them out for her to see, not in the slightest. She'd never even seen past his shades, not yet, at least.

Reaching up, Dave removed her hand from his lips, turning over the dainty but callused appendage to press a kiss onto the back of her hand. Her steps faltered a bit, and she nearly tripped over her own feet, just blinking at the male in front of her. Obviously, Dave teased her frequently in similar ( and frighteningly platonic ) ways, but now, though, he let his shades slide down his nose, gazing up at her and - shit.

Her feet froze at the sight of red irises, not unlike her own but more bright, more crimson, bloodied but terribly pretty. Her hand was given a squeeze, lingering before he let it slide from his own hand as Dave kept walking, pushing his glasses up, though his amusement wasn't lost with her visuals.

"You comin', Megido?" he chimed, walking backwards, and she swallowed stiffly before letting out a nervous laugh, nodding. Rucking up her skirt, Aradia jogged forward to catch up with him before letting the gray material fall back down over her legs and following the blonde into the coffee shop.

The pair took their seats, and despite being inside, Aradia pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands, huffing softly and shivering from the early-December chill. The neck was wide, resting lightly on the very edge of her shoulders to expose a rosy collarbone, matching her nose and cheeks, softer against her dark skin was still obvious. Her hair was down, still begging for a hair cut where it fell in a small pile on the seat, and the gray scarf around her neck did little for all its fluffiness, her rampant curls doing more to keep her warm than the monochrome wool.

A waitress dropped by, and they both ordered their drinks - a cinnamon-honey latte and a straight black expresso, respectively ( Dave only drinks black coffee, she learned ).

Their chatting was half-hearted and half-assed, and it was obvious. Something was on his mind.

"- had to drag Captor's scrawny ass along, honestly, the idiot doesn't -"

"Dave. What's bothering you?"

The blonde faltered, whatever insult about their mutual best friend, their third muskateer, dying on his lips. His face was blank for a long moment, before he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "You're real good at this, Megido."

"At what, reading you?"

"Yeah. Its like I'm a book or some shit - and we both know how you eat those things up like its an ass stand, and all you've ever known is bitter ass famine."

"Dave, that's probably the fifth time I've heard you made that metaphor in the past week."

"It's a damn good metaphor, Bones."

Aradia laughed and rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. What's on your mind, though?"

Dave sighed, running a hand through his hair in a surprising show of exasperation, and then he surprised her even more.

He took his shades off.

He took.

His shades.

Off.

The aviators were folded and set delicately to the side, and he hesitated before raising his gaze up to her own, burgundy fixing on crimson and vice versa.

"Can't not look a girl in the eye before you kiss her."

Aradia laughed softly, knowing only that he made a joke, the words not pro - "What."

Oh. _Oh._

\---

He knew she was soft - it's all she really was, curvy and thick in stature, hair shiny and smooth, skin like a newborn's and voice gentle, melodic. He was familiar with that. But her lips -

Oh, that was a whole different story. That was like a novel in an entirely different genre, written in a different language on a different continent on a different planet, it was so different a story.

Dave's thumb traced her cheek, twisted the stray curl that brushed her cheek, then traced again down her neck, fingers trickling like warm water across her throat and collarbone.

Much to his begrudging acceptance, though, breathing and public decency were both still things, and so pulling away was a necessity. After the look of awed shock crossed her face, though, his heart lept as that trademark grin spread across her face - her full lips pulling taut, exposing two rows of straight, white teeth, dimples in her freckled cheeks and even her eyes lightened, like they were smiling as well.

"That was nice, even if unexpected."

Dave chuckled, blinking. He felt exposed. He noticed, though, that the red hues of his irises seemed to fascinate her, permanently in a state of wonderment, and he loved having that effect on her. Maybe the shades could stay off a little longer. Besides, without the dark tint of his shades, her colors looked a whole lot prettier.

"So, what do you say, Megido? Will you be my totally hot and ironic boyfriend?"

The brunette snorted, giggling and shaking your head. "You'll have to try harder than that, Strider!"

Dave quirked a brow, before smirking and rising from his side of the booth and stepping out. Aradia eyed him curiously when he snatched a twist-tie from one of the little holiday-decorations on the table and twisted it into a circle, setting it on one outstretched palm and clasping the other over it, before kneeling down on the floor beside her and grinning like an idiot, opening his hands like a faux-ring box, the red twist-tie sitting invitingly in front of her, and Aradia was nearly beside herself with laughter. Everyone in the cafe was staring at them, expectant, and he couldn't care less, and Dave knew she  couldn't, either.

"Bones, I have known you for nearly five months. For two weeks I ironically and ninja-esque-ly, and also totally fuckin' creeperishly photographed you in the old building off behind that new apartment complex, and you are the single most goddamn beautiful creature I've met. You read me like my ironic comics you put up with like the mother of an autistic child, and you put up with my shades and shitty metaphors and melodramatic slur, and I have no goddamn idea how you do it, but I admire you for it.

"You sing like a fuckin' angel and you've got hands to match, with the archaeology shit, and the art and guitar and piano, and you look like some sort of mix between some Hollywood burnout and small town girl, and you never, not once, cease to amaze me. So, yes, I'm being real here, if only for a moment.

"Aradia Megido, will you be my unironic and totally fuckin' genuine girlfriend?"

He held out the red twist-tie ring, and looked up at her curiosly. Her hands were covering her mouth, and her cheeks flushed, eyes sparkly with about-to-fall tears, and he chuckled as she held out a hand silently, Dave sliding the tie onto her ring finger. "Shit, Megido, don't cry on me. You've got a badass sweetheart reputation to uphold."

"Oh, shut the hell up, you douchecanoe!" Aradia practically tackled him over but rather just ended up standing, leaning over and tossing her hair to one side to press a kiss to his lips, arms thrown around his shoulders, and shit if he couldn't get used to this.

"Hey now, I'm a few fuckin' minuteth late and thith ith what you guyth pull? Theriouthly?"

 

**Sticks and Stones, Now She's His Bones:**

God damn it. God fucking damn it, hr really should've known.

He shouldn't have fallen for her in the first place, actually.

His name was Sollux Captor, and his chance just got blown like a blacksmith's forge in a keg of gunpowder. Which is to say, totally fucking blown all to hell.

As he was walking into the cafe ( Dave shot him a text, inviting him ), he noticed it was particularly... Quiet. Until:

"- nd ironic boyfriend?"

"You'll have to try harder than that, Strider!"

That was when hrd turned the corner, and was suddenly watching him twist the tie, kneel down, confess like the lady-killing tool he was. Aradia was practically in tears, and her hair toss happened to give Sollux a front row seat to see both their lip-locking and his own friend-zoning take place, and he couldn't do a goddamn thing.

"Hey now, I'm a few fuckin' minuteth late and thith ith what you guyth pull? Theriouthly?"

His voice was teasing of course, but he meant every damn ounce of the statment, walking over to the grinning pair. Shit. Shitshitshit. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt; the words were like a mantra, humming in the back of his mind to keeo him sane until he could limp away, lick his wounds.

Aradia was beaming as she slid back into the booth, Dave beside her and Sollux across from them both. "Hey, Sollux! Hehe, sorry about that! It was as much of a surprise to me, honestly, as it was to you." The brunette looked over at Dave, sharing a quick peck before turning back to their friend and shit, it shouldn't hurt like that but it did.

"Yeah, I'll bet. Dave'th real thubtle 'bout who he'th into." He sent a levelled glance towards the blonde, laughing softly, and even Dave chuckled.

"Shove it, Captor. I manned up to it, didn't I?" Dave's arm slid around Aradia's waist, and god he was seriously going to explode, or puke, or do something other than be a supportive and not-jealous best friend like he should.

"Heh, yeah. Jutht barely, though, athhole."

Sollux withstood a good half-hour of their cheesy little honeymoon phase, all the kissing and touching and then he just couldn't stand it. Pleading a due project in computer science, he escaped with a near-empty styrofoam cup and a massive headache. Normally, he'd call up Aradia, and they'd hang out, her voice in his ears and hands on his temples always dissapating the throbbing nigh instantly.

That wasn't exactly an option now, though. Seemed like it was video games and a metric shitton of aspirin was his only option left.

\---

It'd been three weeks since they'd spoken.

Well, no. That was a lie. They'd texted a bit, called here and there. But they hadn't hung out, hadn't had a single decent conversation, and Aradia was beginning to get worried. This wasn't like Sollux, and knowing him - his swings, his insecurities, his doubts abouthis safety towards himself - she was afraid of what might happen.

Which led to her venturing to his house, knocking lightly on the door, and gosh why was she nervous? She blamed the nearly-imperceptible-but-still-there tremble in her fingers on her outfit, the holey jeans she wore the obvious origin of the tremors.

Obviously.

She was debating just leaving when the door swung open, a boy looking exactly like Sollux but older, less lanky and gawky standing in the doorway, looking down at her.

"Hey, lady. Who're you?"

He even sounded like Sol, christ, even if this boy's voice was deeper, thicker.

"Hi! I'm Aradia. I'm looking for Sollux, actually, he hasn't been spea - ... What? What's that look for?"

The male's face had twisted suddenly when she mentioned her name, though it took her a second to realize. He looked understanding, actually, as well as obviously uncomfortable and a bit dubious.

"Man, the little guy wasn't kidding, was he?" Aradia cocked her head, confused. "He talks about you. A lot, actually. Look, Sol isn't here, he's at Karkat's, but I bet you've got some questions, and rightfully so. C'mon in and we can talk. I'm Mituna, by the way, Sollux's older brother. Biological," he finished, before she could even open her mouth to speak, and the brunette girl let out a little, chittering laugh, stepping into the warm home as Mituna stepped aside to let her do so.

"Thanks, Mituna," she hummed, kicking off her shoes.

" 'Course. Go on into the living room, I'll be in there in a sec. You like hot chocolate?"

"Of course!" Another giggle, and Mituna looked amused.

"A'ight, I'll get you some." With a smile and nod, they parted, Mituna into the kitchen and Aradia into the living room, plopping down on the couch and folding her legs beneath her. She rubbed her arms, hugging herself and willing the heat to seep into her sweater and warm her more quickly than the snail's pace it was currently at.

Mituna, true to his word, was back in a moment with two mugs of hot cocoa, and Aradia thanked him fervently as he took a seat beside her on the couch. It was crappy instant, made with milk and probably microwaved, and she'd never tasted anything better.

"So, I really have to know - is he mad at me? I mean, did I do something wrong, or - hey, stop laughing!" Mituna had suddenly started cracking up, as if she'd made some golden joke and hadn't even known about it.

"Sorry, 'Radia. I just - no, you didn't do anything wrong. I don't think he's capable of being mad at you, even if it seems like he might be."

That was an... Interesting answer, but she was relieved all the same, letting out a soft sigh. "That's good. That's - that's really good." Aradia nodded, shifting a bit and staring at the powder chunks in her cocoa for a long, silent moment. "What's wrong, then?" She didn't look up when she asked, but she could feel Mituna's eyes boring into her, and she wondered just what she was missing.

"There's a few things I can't tell you. I mean, I would, but it's not my place to do so. Sollux has to man his ass up and do that himself, when he's good and ready. But," he shifted, sipping his own drink and keeping his eyes on her. "I can tell you that he cares about you, Aradia. A lot. More than anything. I've never seen him get so interested in something, not even programming and all that shit. He never stops talking about you - your singing, your jokes and your looks and the little tics and habits that even you don't notice."

He paused to take a breath, take a sip, keep eyeing her curiously, as if waiting for something, some light to come on. "He's afraid of losing you, now that you're so close. So he's been pushing you away as a defense mechanism. It isn't the first time he's done it - he does it a lot, actually - but these are different circumstances - "

"Why?"

Mituna chuckled. "You'll know when he tells you. And he will tell you - you just have to let him find and puton his big boy panties and fess up to everything on his mind. You guys have no secrets, yeah?"

Aradia hesitated before nodding - not because she ever kept anything from Sollux, but because her mind was whirling with thoughts, and it was taking a few seconds for Mituna's words to process. "Of course not."

"Good. Use that to your advantage. Don't corner him, but make sure he knows you're worried. He'll spill in no time."

Another lingering hesitation, and then Aradia was smiling wildly, beaming from ear to ear. "Thanks, Mituna! I'll keep it in mind. Tell Sollux to call me, by the way, when he gets home."

She waved on her way out the door, and Mituna returned the gesture, letting the door click shut behind her.

Poor girl didn't have a clue.

**Misinterperated Words Lead To Nothing:**

The second he showed up in the broken building, the deteriorated asylum welcoming in the oddest ways, arms were thrown around his neck and a mass of unruly russet curls in his face. Sollux couldn't help but notice that she smelled like cinnamon and dust and old book, a peculiar scent but a comforting one nonetheless.

Aradia was crushing him to her, and he the same, nose buried in her hair and his long arms crossing over her back completely, fingers diggering into her sides.

"-oo affhull."

"What?"

Aradia laughed pulling back and smacking him on the chest. "You asshole!" She sounded halfway between laughing and almost crying and he crushed her to him once more, even being so bold as to lift her and spin her in a circle, content with doing so since he knew no one was here. No one but her and himself, like it used to be. He wouldn't admit to missing her as much as he had, startling shocked when Mituna had told him about Aradia's visit, though the warm feeling in his chest grew nonetheless.

It didn't really matter, honestly, that he couldn't have her. She was beyond happy with Dave, practically head over heels for the blonde douchebag, and he was... Well, he was okay with that. He wasn't a fan, obviously, but he supported them and helped Dave plan dates and pick out clothes and figure out the best presents for anniversaries.

They chatted away that Saturday in their hideaway, as well as Sunday, and then they were back into their normal routine, laughing and crying and singing and comforting.

He helped her through every fight, mediating for them, and it didn't take long for Sollux to tuck away the ache in his heart when he saw them together. They were unbelievably happy, and they were his friends, and it stopped hurting after a while.

He never stopped falling right onto his stupid face for her, but now he was okay with just being friends, the initial wounds healed over now.

His two best friends were happy, and that made him happy, as cliche as it sounded.

It seemed like they were going to last forever.

Until, suddenly, they weren't.

\---

Aradia and Dave had been together for nearly two years. Dave was going on nineteen, Aradia on eighteen, and they were still going strong. Her friendship with Sollux hadn't once dwindled - if anything, after their random little incident, they were stronger than ever, and stayed as such. They were known as an inseperable trio and Sollux knew the trio had shattered when his brother pushed his bedroom door open, lips pursed.

"Hey, little dude. Aradia's downstairs."

"What? 'Tuna, what the hell, it'th like one in the morning. Why did Droog let her out? Tell her thhe thhould just go home, I'll thee whatever the fuck thhe dug up tomorrow when we get coffee."

"That's... Look, Sol, I really think you should see her, okay? Just go downstairs. She's at the door. Didn't wanna come in until she'd seen you. Said she had t'see you, like, right now." Mituna shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "Go get her, little dude. I'll be in my room. Keys for the truck are on the counter."

Sollux blinked, shaking his head before letting his laptop click shut and pulling on a hoodie and some jeans, heading downstairs. What was she up to? If it was some archaeology stunt, he'd kill her, honest to God.

"Aradia, it'th like one in the morn - ... Holy thhit."

Aradia, bubbly and never-down Aradia, was a goddamn mess.

Small, wedged heels were in her hand, feet bare and maroon dress intact - she must've been on a date with Strider. Her hair was done up, though a few wild curls fell from the ponytail and her make-up was well done, if it weren't for the tears streaking down her face.

Oh, dear god, the tears. Mascara and eyelinger made tracks down her cheeks and damn it, she looked so miserable he could barely handle it. Without speaking a word, they both just met in a hug in the doorway, Aradia breaking down into sobs into his shoulder, and he didn't care if he had make-up and tears all over him, not really.

"He's leaving us!"

Us. Even when sobbing like a tantrum-throwing newborn, she never left Sollux out of the picture. Cute.

"What? Who?"

"Dave! H-he's moving. To New York City. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Oh my god, Sollux, he didn't even tell me! Did he tell you? God, that douchebag, he looked so smug! That's fucking - urgh! I hate him! I hate hate ha -" Her voice choked up, breaking, and then she was sobbing into his shoulder again, body trembling gently with her convulsions and shit, he really just could not feel worse, could he?

"C'mon, AA. It'th cold ath ballth out-thhide, come in."


End file.
